Shattered by Magic
Rebecca Danese
For Daniele, who will one day see the TV series/movie adaptation.
I hope.
Then he’ll understand what all the fuss was about.
CHAPTER 1
Left hook.
My left fist makes contact with the training pad as my mind floods with visions of Ella disappearing before my eyes.
Right hook.
I swing my right arm, pulling back my left to cover my face. The Duke’s cold eyes stare back at me, and I twist my body to prepare for another punch.
Jab.
Sweat drips from my body, every muscle taught. The pain is nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest.
Cross.
“Curtis, concentrate!” Jer says, taking a swing for me, which grazes my ear as I slip.
Uppercut.
“Clear your mind. You’re distracted.”
You don’t say.
Body Kick.
He blocks it, placing a firm arm on my shoulder and sweeping my legs from under me. I land with a thud, the wind knocked from my lungs.
“Again!” our trainer shouts. Jer holds out an arm to help me up, and I grunt with the effort.
“I can’t stop thinking about it, Jer. It’s throwing me off my game,” I mumble to him so that no one else can hear.
“You’ve got to stop doing that, mate. Stop torturing yourself. There was nothing you could do.”
I try to distract myself from thoughts of this morning’s training session and concentrate on the task at hand. Like a rubber band that’s being stretched too tight, lack of sleep and heavy physical exertion over the past eight weeks have made me feel like I’m about to snap, but as I exit the underground station, I allow myself a brief moment of hope that today we might get closer to finding her.
The heavens open, and another April shower cascades over Sloane Square, causing me to run across the densely packed pavement and huddle under the shelter of a nearby kiosk, grabbing the first magazine I get my hands on to look as though me being there is intentional.
“Cough once if you read me,” the voice of Miss Banks breathes in my earpiece.
Miss Banks, the head of the Augur Terror Unit, or ATU, took me under her wing after Ella was kidnapped by the Duke. It was supposed to be temporary, but two months later, here we still are, me and my three best friends—Jer, Lou, and Marco—who all happen to be Augurs, too. I owe them a debt for sticking with me to find Ella, despite becoming part of an organisation that puts Augurs behind bars. Whether it’s because they feel they owe me something after my back was broken last year or they feel obligated to Ella, I don’t know. Nor do I care. They’re with me every day, and that alone is keeping me from falling off the edge.
Working with the Augur Terror Unit is weird. We’re not proper agents, not really, but we’re being treated like part of the team. At least I’ve finally been allowed away from a desk and into the field for the first time since starting.
I give a casual cough in reply to Miss Banks, who prompts me once again. “Good. Keep your cool, and no obvious movements.” It isn’t like I’m in a position to argue, so I keep everything but my eyes still and watch a black Rolls Royce cruise past me. Something tugs in my chest. It’s stupid to think that every rich man’s car might belong to Ella’s kidnapper, but it doesn’t stop me from envisioning ripping the car door open and punching the occupant in the throat.
I’ve lain awake almost every night, reliving that meeting with the Duke. Him drugging me and stealing her away. He told me he wanted to keep her safe from the Magic Circle. Well, the Magic Circle have all but disappeared, along with his son, their supposed leader, and my invisible, traitorous aunt.
I feel my thoughts delving down yet another dark path. It’s been like this for weeks. I zone out, and I’m there, paralysed and unable to save Ella.
“Our intel has paid off. I’ve just confirmed the license plate of that Rolls is registered to Clarence’s driver,” she says, although her voice doesn’t betray any particular excitement. She could be commenting on the weather for all the enthusiasm she expresses, although that’s pretty standard for the head of the ATU. I exhale through my nose, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch, my palms instantly clammy.
Although it’s a two-way comms system, I’m under strict instructions to keep my mouth shut so as not to draw any unwanted attention. So, instead of answering, I continue to look at the magazine in front of me, surreptitiously glancing over the top of it every few seconds. The streets of Southwest London are bustling, and the news kiosk outside Sloane Square Station is the perfect spot to hide in plain sight. I shelf the magazine and pick up another, barely paying attention to the cover. My eyes stay focused on the black car that pulls up and parks illegally outside the bank further down the road. A smartly dressed figure with a large golf umbrella steps out and dashes down an alley by the bank. I can’t help but notice that his long gait resembles Giles Mulberry, the Duke’s butler, and I assume this is why Miss Banks told me not to move. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to sprint after him and instead wait for the command to move from my position. The past eight weeks have been a constant battle between my short temper and her insistence that I follow protocol. It’s that or get kicked out of the ATU for good, so I’m trying to behave. Mostly.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from speaking into the comms and keep my eyes firmly on the vehicle in case the Duke himself comes out holding my girlfriend ransom. Sure, it’s unlikely, but I’m not going to take any chances.
The kiosk owner clears his throat loudly, probably as a subtle attempt to make me buy the magazine or move on, but I ignore him. A tinny radio somewhere behind him chimes out the afternoon news, and an enthusiastic reporter brings us the latest from the Commons. I’m sick of hearing about it, but I can’t help but listen in. The PM’s voice raises above the jeers of fellow politicians in the background.
“People’s safety is our only priority. Augur registration is the key to ensuring that both Augurs and Normals in our country can live their lives free from harm, danger, and discrimination. I believe we’re doing what’s best for everyone.”
I scoff, and the kiosk owner looks at me suspiciously. Augur registration hasn’t done anything except put a label on people.
I fight the urge to scrunch the magazine up and try to make my mind go blank, instead concentrating on the here and now, as our personal trainer keeps telling me to do.
Every day has been a rollercoaster of hope and despair, a blur of pain and anger and frustration at ever finding Ella. I’m pretty sure everyone is sick of me brooding. I keep being told not to hope, that “hope is a dangerous thing,” Miss Banks’s new motto for me, and every time we’ve gotten a new lead or seemingly good intel, I’ve tried to quash it and prepare myself for the worst. But the disappointment never fails to sting when we’re evaded by a man who always appears to be one step ahead of us. No energy spikes, no clues, and certainly no signs of unusual Augur activity. It’s like they disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Every house he’s ever visited has been raided for clues, every second of CCTV footage where facial recognition has picked him up has been scanned, but the man is like a ghost. He up and disappeared, my traitorous aunt and my girlfriend along with him.
So, although I want to tell myself that every day brings me somehow closer to finding Ella, right now I’m fighting with the hole in my chest not to expect too much.
So why appear now, in the middle of a bustling city shopping district? My only thoughts are that there must be something of interest in that building, or it wouldn’t be worth the risk.
I might have had my misgivings about the ATU at first, and still do a little, but I can’t de
ny that working for them has given me a kind of inner strength and a purpose, whilst also providing me with an outlet to channel all my anger into something—or someone.
“Curtis, stay focused. All that heavy breathing makes me think you’re hyperventilating,” Miss Banks quips, bringing me back to the present.
The car is motionless, and no parking wardens seem to care that there’s a million-pound vehicle parked illegally on the side of the road, with its hazard lights on, although that’s probably a common occurrence in this part of town. A Lamborghini and a Ferrari park up either side of it, and no one bats an eyelid. I guess rich people don’t care about parking tickets.
“Jer is three minutes out. Stay put until I give you the go ahead,” she says.
The man at the kiosk has taken to drumming his fingers on the counter and staring in my direction, so I try to stand as casually as I can, as if Angler’s Weekly is the most interesting thing I could be reading right now.
It could be a trick, I tell myself as I stare blankly at a picture of a man holding a huge fish. Or it could just be a coincidence that the Duke’s Sloane Square property has had the lights on for the past three nights straight. Or the kidnapper of my girlfriend could be just a few metres away and could lead me straight to her. I grip the pages of the magazine tightly, hoping the kiosk owner doesn’t charge me for it.
“Two minutes,” Banks says, as if reading my thoughts and feeling my need for action.
The beanie I’m wearing to cover my now-shaved head conceals the earpiece nicely, and with my hood up to shield against the April showers, it would take someone practically staring at me for a full minute to recognise me in a crowd.
Although I was reluctant to shave my head at first, it was at Miss Banks’s insistence that I look different if she was going to allow me to do fieldwork. “It’ll grow back,” she said to me when I commiserated at the sight of my mop of black hair falling to the floor at the hands of a barber.
“Movement spotted on the second floor. There’s a door at the side of the property that we need cover on. Crossley, cover the alleyway,” she says to the other ATU agent that I know is somewhere further down the road. Adam Crossley is a Normal (like everyone else in the ATU) in his forties, and he’s a hundred percent more experienced than I am at this sort of thing.
I glimpse his muscly figure crossing the road further down and standing casually at the mouth of the alleyway. He pulls out a packet of cigarettes and uses the alley as cover to light one. If I didn’t know that it was all part of the ATU’s clever method of concealing their surveillance of the area, I would think nothing of it. Just an average-looking guy having a smoke on a cold Spring day.
“Curtis, get to a better angle, and make sure that your camera has a clear line of sight to the door. I have eyes on the roof in case our friend tries to escape that way. Jer, into position by the door now.”
I resist the urge to nod in response and put the magazine back on the kiosk shelf before pushing through the crowds with their umbrellas. The rain is easing off, and I can get a clearer view of the apartment entrance from across the road now that I’ve moved.
I spot Jer wandering down the street, hands thrust in his pockets as if he hasn’t a care in the world. He slows down just as he reaches the doorstep of the apartments and tucks himself next to the wall as if to message someone on his phone.
Nice one, I think to myself, leaning on a lamppost just a few metres across the road from him. A nearby bus stop works as cover for me so that anyone looking will think I’m just another commuter, waiting for the next bus to come along.
I glance up at the four-story building in front of me and see the lights on in the third-floor front room. The sudden thudding in my chest betrays my calm exterior, and I try to take deep, slow breaths to calm myself down. Eight weeks. Eight weeks of torture, imagining what Ella is going through. Eight weeks of constantly replaying in my mind the night she was kidnapped and how stupid I was. She’ll know she’s pregnant by now, I’m sure. Whether or not the Duke or his staff that are keeping her hidden know is another matter. The number of times I’ve thought about what I’ll do to him, given the chance, are too numerous to count. Cold sweat drips down my back, and I pull my hood off to allow the cool drizzle to touch my neck. I sigh, and Jer looks up for a second from his phone, straight at me, sensing my unease. He gives me a knowing look before looking back at his phone, which is new for him, as Augurs usually don’t bother with them. Too much concentrated power sitting in their pockets is liable to cause trouble when your abilities rely on power sources to work.
Unless you’re Ella.
“It’s him,” Miss Banks says, sounding uncharacteristically emotional. “Target has been spotted in the upstairs window. It’s go-time, gentlemen. Block the alleyway exit, Crossley. Curtis, stay outside the front door. Jer, as soon as that front door opens, you know what to do.”
I cross the road to Jer’s position, managing not to get hit by an oncoming vehicle, and we stand side by side at the door to the apartments. Three short, railed steps lead up to the huge entrance, a glossy, dark-green-painted door framed with stained glass. There are two doorbells, one for deliveries and one for the house itself. Rich people doorbells. The Edwardian red-brick building looms above us, and I feel the sudden jolt of panic that Mulberry will get away somehow before we have any answers.
“I’ve got to go in there,” I say to Jer, who shakes his head adamantly at me but says nothing.
“Do not move without my say-so, Curtis,” Miss Banks says forcefully in both our ears. But I’m not listening. Mulberry is in there. He’s more than just an accomplice to the crime. He was there. He helped drug us and take Ella away, and with any luck he’ll lead me straight back to his employer. I walk up the short steps and try the door handle, but of course it’s locked.
“Pick the lock,” I say to Jer desperately. He looks around at the crowded street, eyebrow raised in reply.
“Are you mad? I’m all for a bit of breaking and entering, mate, but I think we should do as the boss-lady says. She’s got an eye in the sky, yeah? Mulberry’s got nowhere to go if we just stay put. We run in with all guns blazing now, and we could both be hurt. Or worse,” he says, the voice of reason. I open my mouth to protest, but I’m interrupted by the sound of chatter over our comms.
“There’s movement by the window. Let’s hope he hasn’t spotted you. He’s going to try and escape somehow, so you all need to be ready. Backup is five minutes out, and the only person you need to worry about is the driver, as he’s otherwise alone—” I stop listening to Miss Banks the minute the front door opens, my reflexes taking over as I leap straight through the gap. I barely think as I bowl into the figure who opened the door and take him down onto the marble floor with me, crashing painfully on my elbow but the landing otherwise being softened by the wiry frame of Giles Mulberry. An unfamiliar and feral noise escapes from my lips as I bear down on him, landing punches to his surprised face, barely giving him time to breathe between each one.
The shock of my attack has already been replaced by the look of annoyance, and he scowls at me, not even bothering to wipe the line of blood that drips from his mouth. It’s pure luck that I see the glint of metal in his hand and roll off him just in time to avoid being caught by the dirk that he materialised from somewhere. Putting a little distance between us, I manoeuvre myself so that he stands in the lobby between Jer and me, hoping he doesn’t realise we don’t have a weapon between us.
He lunges, the short knife missing my shoulder by an inch as I swerve out of the way, giving him an opening to reach for the back door.
“Not so fast, asshole!” I shout as I tackle him back to the ground, winding us both in the process. I manage to smash his fist against the hard floor, forcing the knife out of his hand, but I don’t expect the bony knee that he lands in my ribs just seconds after. It gives him the element of surprise, and he rolls on top of me, his nobbled fingers suddenly clasping around my neck.
Jer dashes from
his position by the door to come to my aid, being a more experienced fighter than I, and manages to land an uppercut to the butler’s chin, sending him backwards and off me.
Pure fury clouds my vision, the adrenaline forcing me back up and giving me the energy to push the old man against the nearest wall, landing punches to his torso and face until he slides to the ground.
“Curtis! Stop it! We’ve got him, alright?” Jer pulls me off him and has the good sense to close the front door behind us, trapping us in the lobby with our target. Panting from the exertion, I pick up his dirk, thinking darkly of all the things I’d like to do with it.
“You good?” Jer says to me, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say hoarsely, wiping the perspiration from my forehead on the sleeve of my jacket. Flecks of blood taint the chequerboard floor, which has been polished to a shine. I hope most of it is Mulberry’s. There’s a staircase leading to the rooms above and the two exits front and back, the latter which I assume leads to the alleyway where Crossley is stationed. I itch to go upstairs and see if Ella’s up there, but I force myself to wait. We don’t want our prime suspect getting away just because I’m distracted.
The butler recovers quickly, untangling himself from the floor and scrabbling for a way out, but Jer is blocking his exit to the street, and I quickly move to barricade the way out behind him once more. He glances up, as if help will come from the staircase above, but as he does, Jer takes two steps forward and injects him with a tranquiliser.
“You’ll pay for this, Jeremy,” he says, then his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he crumples back to the ground. I almost wish Jer hadn’t caught him on the way down, preventing him from hitting his head.
“You’re not the first old man to tell me that, mate,” Jer says to his unconscious prisoner. “We got him, Miss Banks,” he says into the comms, and I hear her brief reply in my own ear:
“Good. Crossley will need letting in, and a car will be around shortly to pick you up.” You wouldn’t think she was impressed or even happy from her tone, but I still take a moment to celebrate.
Shattered by Magic Page 1
